


i'll break and forge the stars anew

by MsImpala67



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic, Arthur Pendragon Returns, Immortal Merlin, M/M, Pining Merlin, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-02-20 16:06:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13150158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsImpala67/pseuds/MsImpala67
Summary: Merlin is waiting. He's been waiting for, well, he's lost track of exactly how long. Eleven hundred years? Twelve? And then, just like that, Arthur is back. No neon signs or clapping thunder to announce his return- just Arthur, standing in the middle of the sidewalk.Merlin knows he should be more worried than he is about the reason for Arthur's return. What danger or threat or pressing need has called him back? But while Merlin and Arthur try to figure it out, there's no harm in being glad, is there? After all, Merlin has missed him. Maybe more than he realizes.(I expect this fic to be between 5-7 chapters, updated every 4-7 days. Title taken from "The Call" by Rupert Brooke.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited to share my first Merlin series- just a fluffy, smutty little thing! I hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: none, just homecoming feels

“Have a nice day, sir.”

Merlin nods and smiles at the young woman as she punches her employee code into the computer and clocks out of her shift. “You do the same, Emma.”

He turns back to the till he’s counting, frowning a little as he concentrates. The shop isn’t doing too well lately, he realizes, staring at the print out of today’s almost non-existent profits. It’s not as if he’s depending on it for survival or anything, but it hurts his pride a little. He’s done hundreds, maybe thousands of jobs over the centuries, and bookstores were always his favorite. With the changing technology, however, there may not be as much of a demand for them as there once was. 

“Mr. Emrys? Can I ask you something?”

Merlin glances over at Emma, a young woman who has helped him in the afternoons and on weekends since she was a teenager. She’s approaching her mid-twenties now, and Merlin plans on handing the store over to her when the time comes for him to move on again. As far as employees go, she’s the best- smart and funny, dependable, but quiet. Merlin understands her desire to hang out here with the books rather than with her peers. 

“Of course,” he says, setting the papers down and giving her his full attention.

“Tell me if this is none of my business, but is everything okay? You seem...distracted lately.”

That isn’t what Merlin expected at all, and it catches him off guard. “I have?

“The last few months, actually,” Emma nods. “You’ve always been a little melancholy every now and then, but I’m actually starting to get worried.” 

The concern in her face is so sincere that Merlin can’t even be defensive or offended. 

“I’m fine,” he says, as convincingly as possible, realizing just how fake it sounds as the words leave his mouth, too falsely cheerful. 

Emma only raises an eyebrow and Merlin lets out a soft huff of laughter. “I’m fine,” he says again, achieving a more normal octave this time. “Just...feeling a bit out of sorts, I guess. Nothing to worry about.”

“I  _ do _ worry,” she says. “I know we both love to hide here, but it’s important not to spend  _ all  _ your time alone, you know.”

Merlin grins. “I know. You aren’t asking me out, are you?”

Her laugh echoes through the small space, warm and melodic. “You’d be lucky to have me.”

“If I were a young man again, my dear, I’d do my best to be worthy of someone like you. Now go on, get out of here. And don’t give your old boss another thought.”

Her words stay with him as he finishes his day’s work and locks up. 

The warm summer air on the walk to his flat doesn’t clear his head, and that melancholy loneliness seeps deeper, down into his bones. Emma was more right than even she knows. It’s been ages, _ centuries  _ since Merlin has felt this deep sadness. He isn’t sure why, has no idea what’s brought it on, but it’s a feeling he can’t shake this time, a missing piece or hole in his life that he can’t ignore. It’s been almost a year since he’s felt normal. 

Merlin supposes that’s just the price he pays. Never getting too close to people, moving on just as he starts to settle in, changing his appearance and his occupation what feels like as often as he changes his clothes...it all takes a toll, doesn’t it? And that’s okay. 

There’s a reason he’s waiting, a reason he’s living this way, a reason that’s much more important than any loneliness he suffers in the meantime. 

His home is small and sparse, but it’s familiar as he tosses his keys on the table and steps out of his shoes. It’s all so  _ mundane _ now. Fix dinner. Watch television. Read a bit. Maybe go see a film if there’s something that seems interesting. Merlin doesn’t want to do any of it. 

Instead, he sits down at the tiny desk in the corner of his tiny living room, and pulls out a sheet of paper and a pen. 

_ Arthur, _

He remembers a time when the paper was thicker parchment, when he would have to dip ink to scratch words across it. It feels strange to see that particular name on white, thin paper with blue lines, written with an ink pen that clicks and bears Merlin’s teeth marks on the end. That name deserves the beauty of the past, not the convenience of the present.

_ It’s been a decade or two since I’ve written to you. In all honesty, there isn’t much to say other than I’m still here. Still waiting. I’m not sure what exactly I’m waiting for, but I’m waiting nonetheless. _

_ The other night, I had a dream about you. About my time in Camelot. I’ve been having them more and more frequently over the last hundred years or so. The woman who works for me has even started to notice that I’m distracted lately.  _

_ Does that mean something? Does that mean that we will soon meet again? Or does it just mean that I’m longing for the people who know the real me, longing for a time when I didn’t have to wear a disguise and barely exist in the world? _

There’s much more Merlin wants to say to Arthur. He’s tried to say them before, letter after letter tucked away in boxes under Merlin’s bed, the majority of them long since crumbled to dust. But they offer no satisfaction without Arthur’s response. 

With the unfinished letter left on the desk, Merlin heads into his tiny kitchen and starts dinner.

 

********

 

It’s another two months before Emma brings it up again. 

This time, she finds him when he’s hidden in the fiction section, fingers brushing the spine of a thick book.

“The Sword in the Stone?” she asks, tilting her head in curiosity.

Merlin shrugs and shakes his head. “An old favorite of mine, though I never did care for this particular version.”

If she thinks him strange, she keeps it to herself. 

“Would it be odd of me to ask you round to dinner this weekend? My family is visiting Saturday afternoon, and honestly, I think you could use a day around people.”

Merlin smiles. “Thank you, really, but I-”

“But you can’t. Or won’t.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Fine. I’ll let it go.”

Merlin glances at the book one last time before heading back to the counter, where he spends the rest of the day with a smile on his face, trying to convince Emma that there’s nothing for her to worry about.

And it starts to work. As the day stretches on, he feels a bit lighter, a bit more cheerful. He finds himself humming as he doesn’t done in ages. It isn’t over, of course. The way he’s been feeling will take a very long time to fade, and there will be many more bad days, bad weeks, bad months to come. But one good day is a good start. 

He leaves the shop that day feeling more nostalgic than sad or lonely, and finds himself walking down a familiar road, one that leads right past the Lake of Avalon, though no one but Merlin knows that name. Everyone else seems to walk right past like it’s not even there, like the water is just another park bench or sidewalk-lining tree. 

But Merlin’s eyes go straight to it, linger over the still water, reflecting the sky like glass. His heart beats differently as he watches- not exactly faster, but Merlin can feel it, can feel the blood pulsing in a way he usually can’t. This place makes him feel alive. Makes him feel like  _ Merlin  _ rather than Mr. Emrys the shop owner or whoever he is this decade. 

Makes him feel like he's Arthur’s again. Not that he ever really was. 

But here in this place, he feels like he could have been. Feels like he can see Arthur standing there at the edge of the water, sword in hand, blinking up into the sunlight looking terrified and-

Terrified?

Merlin closes his eyes for a few seconds, opens them again to find the same expression on the memory’s face. A passerby gives the memory an irritated glance and glares it a few steps back, out of the way of the sidewalk’s traffic, and Merlin realizes it isn’t a memory at all. 

On sheer survival instinct, Merlin surges forward, grabs Arthur’s arm to find it warm and solid beneath his hand. “Arthur?”

Those eyes focus on his, scared but bold, ready to fight off the danger. “Who are you?”

Right. Merlin doesn’t look like Merlin. Still operating on adrenaline, Merlin pulls at him again. “I’m a friend. Come on, we need to get you out of the street.”

Arthur looks around, face pale as he looks at the cars driving by, the city around them full of concrete and streetlamps and a million other things he’s never seen. His throat and lips work, moving a little, but nothing comes out as he staggers back a step. 

“Arthur, look at me. Everything is fine. You just need to get somewhere safe.”

Arthur pulls his eyes to Merlin’s and focuses, like maybe it’s easier to look at a  _ person _ than whatever is going on around him. He nods, but it’s just a knee-jerk reaction, no real understanding in his face as he lets himself be pulled along.

Luckily, Merlin’s flat is close, and he soon has Arthur heading up the stairs to his door, nodding and smiling at people they pass like Arthur is just an actor on his way to some Medieval reenactment or something. 

It’s only when they’re inside that Arthur snaps out of his daze, draws his sword and points it straight at Merlin’s chest. “Tell me who you are.”

Merlin laughs. He can’t help it. That voice, that tone, are so  _ Arthur _ , so demanding and arrogant. 

Good lord,  _ how he’s missed that _ . 

The laugh bubbles up along with tears, tears he tries to blink back because this isn’t the time. 

“Put down the sword,” he says when he’s calm enough to speak. Arthur hasn’t budged, still has the point digging into his chest just enough to scare anyone who isn’t Merlin.

Arthur lifts his chin, a silent  _ why should I _ , and Merlin can see through his threat now, can see how his knuckles are white around the hilt and his eyes are just a little wild. He’s scared. 

“Arthur, you don’t need to be afraid,” he says slowly. Carefully. “It’s me. Merlin.”

Arthur’s eyes widen at that, but he doesn’t lower the blade. “You aren’t Merlin.”

“I am. If you’ll step back, I can show you.”

Merlin waits him out until he takes a couple steps back, enough to give Merlin room to move his arms, but he doesn’t lower his blade. And he’s still looking at Merlin like he wants to start swinging, like he’d feel a lot better if he had something to kill. 

Merlin closes his eyes against the threat and takes a deep breath. The tingle starts in his toes and works its way up, flashing through his body, and he can feel the years melting off, can feel the disguise strip away until it’s only him, the way he used to look, the face he hasn’t had the heart to wear in centuries. 

The face he was saving for exactly this moment. 

It takes another few breaths before he can open his eyes again, and when he does, the sword is no longer pointed at him. 

Arthur lets it fall, sways on his feet as he stares, taking breaths that are almost as shuddering as Merlin’s. 

Merlin counts the heartbeats in the silence until he can make his feet work again. 

And then he’s shoving himself forward, arms slamming around Arthur as their chests collide, his face turning to press into Arthur’s neck, his hair. He  _ smells _ the same, a little dirty and a little smokey, the same smell that’s in every dream Merlin has. He smells like home. He smells like how much Merlin loves him. 

And Merlin is suddenly sobbing, crying like a baby into Arthur’s shoulder with no care for how overwhelmed he must be. His fingers dig into Arthur’s back and pull at the muscles there, tears soaking the ancient shirt he’s wearing, material Merlin hasn’t felt in at least a thousand years. 

It takes him a while to realize that Arthur is hugging him back, that he has strong arms wrapped around him, holding him close as well. 

That makes him cry even harder. 

It’s embarrassing, and he clears his throat when he finally gets hold of himself. He pulls away with a wet face and a runny nose, really looks Arthur in the face and lets himself believe he’s here. Lets himself feel that  _ Arthur is back _ . 

Arthur still seems stunned. “Merlin, I. What happened to me? Wh-where are we?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I died.”

It’s such a simple, painful statement. Merlin can still feel Arthur in his arms, the life draining out of his body, which made no sense. His body was so heavy, too heavy for Merlin to carry. It was strong and heavy and should have been able to survive. 

“Didn’t I?” Arthur asks when Merlin stays silent. “I died. You were-”

_ Just hold me, please. _

“You were with me. And I died. And then I was...here. Merlin?”

His voice starts to sound small, and it snaps Merlin out of the past and into the present. “It’s all alright, Arthur. Here.”

He leads Arthur to his small table and pulls out a chair. Arthur sinks down into it, still looking at Merlin desperately, like he has all the answers. 

“Did I hallucinate that? Am I hallucinating this? You said you were...” His eyes fall down to his feet then. “You have magic.”

Merlin kneels down and cups Arthur’s face, almost as much for Arthur’s comfort as his own need to touch. “Let me make you something to drink. I’ll explain everything.”

The entire time Merlin is making the tea, Arthur’s eyes are on him, drinking him in like he’s afraid he’s going to vanish. Or maybe he’s just trying to ignore Merlin’s beeping kitchen gadgets and lights, things he has no explanation for that must scare the shit out of him. 

The tea sits on the table between them minutes later, but neither of them drink. 

Merlin takes a deep breath and starts talking. It takes a long time, most of the evening, for him to explain something so simple to Arthur. He can’t think of a way to sugarcoat it, so he starts out with a simple “You were dead for over a thousand years” and goes from there. 

Arthur sputters and repeats himself and asks “How…?” a million times before it finally starts to sink in. Then he goes silent for a concerning amount of time, just sitting there, staring off into the distance.

“Arthur?”

When their eyes meet again, Arthur starts to laugh. Wild, easy laughter that sounds like music to Merlin.

“What?” Merlin asks, unable to stop himself from smiling. 

“I  _ died, _ ” Arthur cackles. “And here I am, hundreds of years later, with you. It’s just…”

“Too ridiculous to be real?”

Arthur nods and laughs louder, Merlin joining him until they are both crying and holding their stomachs. 

“Merlin?”

“Yes?” He bites his tongue not to add the  _ sire _ to the end of the sentence.

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

Merlin reaches out to clap Arthur on the shoulder, mostly just to feel him again. “I’m really glad  _ you’re _ here.”

“Why am I?” Arthur asks, like he’s only just thinking of this. “You said I was to return when I was most needed, right? So why am I needed?”

Merlin shrugs. “I’m not sure. But let’s not worry about it tonight. You have a  _ lot _ to catch up on.”

Arthur nods and smiles, still looking a little nervous, but Merlin can feel it, the security that comes with them being together. Surely Arthur being back means that there is some sort of danger and peril. 

But Merlin can feel Arthur’s shoulder under his hand, can smell that smell of Arthur’s skin, and he hasn’t felt this safe since Arthur died. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: pining!Merlin

It takes the entire night and most of the next morning for Arthur to calm down, to stop asking relentless questions that Merlin either can’t answer in terms Arthur will understand, or can’t answer at all. It’s around nine the next morning when he assures Arthur for the millionth time that he isn’t going anywhere, and convinces him to rest for a while, to let his body catch up and his mind calm down. 

Arthur is asleep before Merlin even gets the covers of his own bed pulled over him. 

It’s a little too familiar, to be tucking him in, and Merlin takes a moment to stare at the lines of his face, lax in sleep, like he’d only just seen them yesterday. He remembers every single one so clearly. Even Arthur’s breathing sounds the same, and a little too normal here in this room, like Merlin has been polishing armor in the corner while Arthur sleeps for the last millenium, rather than living his own Arthur-less life. 

It’s only then, with Arthur sleeping, that Merlin can think about himself and his own feelings. He makes it out of the room and gets the door shut quietly behind him before he starts crying, and Arthur doesn’t wake up or come out as Merlin sinks to the floor in the tiny hallway, his back to the door, and sobs as silently as he can into his hands. 

Arthur.  _ ArthurArthurArthur _ .

Merlin is bursting at the seams, is too full of this  _ whole  _ feeling, of this sensation of being glued back together after spending far too long in broken pieces. 

Arthur.

There’s already a list forming in Merlin’s mind of conversations he wants them to have. The first one is about his magic, the conversation they didn’t get to have while Arthur was too busy dying. The second one is about  _ them _ . But Merlin isn’t sure they’ll ever get to that one. It might be one he has to keep to himself. 

But right now, just for tonight, Merlin wants to sit here and just think about the fact that Arthur is here. He’s returned. He’s  _ alive  _ again.

The next thing Merlin knows, Arthur is shaking him awake.

“Merlin?”

God, how Merlin has missed hearing his name said that way, coming from those lips. 

“Merlin,” he says again. “Why are you asleep on the floor?”

Merlin blinks his sore and swollen eyes open and looks up blearily, trying to see Arthur’s face clearly. “I just. I don’t actually know,” he says honestly.

Arthur just looks down at him, like this is far from the strangest thing Merlin’s done, and extends his hand to help him up. 

Merlin stands and almost laughs at Arthur in Merlin’s sweatpants, a little too tight around Arthur’s more muscular frame. 

“I know,” Arthur smirks. “This clothing is odd, isn’t it?”

“On you? A little.”

Arthur’s eyes darken a little, face dropping. “I’ve missed so much. I have no idea what...what am I supposed to do, Merlin?”

Merlin reaches out and squeezes Arthur’s bare shoulder. “I think you’re supposed to eat. Then get dressed. And let me show you the new world.”

Arthur blinks fast and takes a shaky breath, then nods, and Merlin sees it there in his eyes, that trust Arthur has in him. It’s total and complete trust born out of necessity of the moment, but it’s not new. Arthur has always trusted Merlin as much as Merlin trusts Arthur. Nothing has changed. 

Nothing and everything. 

********

For an entire month, Merlin helps Arthur adjust. 

It’s not easy at first. Everything is hard to explain, too bright and big and busy for Arthur’s ancient mind to comprehend. But eventually, they develop a routine, and Arthur starts to breathe a little easier, laugh a little more, trust that he’s really safe here. 

Merlin watches him move into this new age with the same power and grace he’s always possessed. When they venture out of Merlin’s flat and Arthur has the chance to interact with others- thanking a pretty server at a restaurant, talking to an elderly man who has brought his small dog to play in the park- people adore him the way they did in Camelot, see the  _ good _ that is the foundation of who he is. Merlin finds himself rediscovering it as well, learning all over again what it is to be with Arthur- equal parts frustrated and enthralled.

But there’s a worrisome emptiness in Arthur’s eyes sometimes, a sadness and a tiny fear that makes Merlin want to hug him close. 

“Don’t you work?” Arthur asks one day, out of nowhere. 

“What?”

“Work. Everyone seems to have work to do here except you.”

Merlin smiles, flops down on his couch to sit beside him, knees almost touching. “I own a shop. I sell books.”

Arthur tilts his head. “I haven’t seen you peddling.”

“There are no peddlers anymore. I have a building where the books are kept, and people come to me.”

Arthur nods. “You are losing your business by staying here with me all the time.”

“I have someone watching the place for me. Her name is Emma. I told her I was going on an extended vacation. Didn’t know when I would be back.”

“Any news on that?”

Merlin shakes his head and frowns. “Nothing.”

And it’s not for a lack of trying. Merlin has tried everything. He has searched and sought out all the information he can get his hands on. He tracked down anyone who might have any inkling of what was going on. He even used his magic to try to look into the future. 

And nothing. 

There is absolutely no indication of why Arthur is back. 

And Merlin can feel that it’s keeping Arthur from settling in. He needs a purpose, a quest, a goal to work toward. Right now, Arthur’s just lost in a strange world after dying in the arms of his magical best friend, with no clue why, and nothing to keep his mind from unraveling with the sheer weight of it all. 

They do find some little pleasures, however. Arthur loves going out to dinner. Merlin suspects that it’s something that feels timeless and familiar. He can sit at a table and have food brought to him, dine with Merlin like they used to, or like they  _ would _ have if Merlin had ever been allowed to sit with him at the royal table. 

They also find a public stable where Arthur can ride horses, and he asks to go there four or five times a week. They trot on well worn paths through the trees, away from anything modern, and Merlin swears it’s the only time Arthur breathes like a normal person. 

Arthur still orders Merlin around. It takes a solid week before Merlin can get him to dress himself on his own, and another week after that before he can get Arthur to rinse out his own cup after they have tea. But for the most part, Merlin follows orders without minding too much. It’s not just a habit, it’s something Merlin wants. Something he’s  _ missed _ , God help him. 

And every night, no matter what they did during the day, they sit and talk. Merlin does his best to bring Arthur through the last several centuries during those conversations, attempts to explain electricity and movies and cars and politics and cell phones. Arthur listens intently, like he’s taking mental notes, asking question after question.

The only thing they don’t talk about is magic. The fact that it exists comes up every now and then, naturally, but they don’t discuss it in depth. Arthur clears his throat and changes the subject every single time, in a way that lets Merlin know he is absolutely not to push to talk about it. Merlin’s used to doing magic regularly, no matter how small, and it takes some effort to give Arthur space from it, even more to remember not to mention it.

It stings, though. Every time he has to do something the slow way, every time he mentions it at all and Arthur looks away. It stings.

And then one night, when it’s late and quiet and the only light in the room is the dim lamp on the table next to Merlin’s couch, Arthur whispers. “Do you remember Camelot well?”

The question hits Merlin square in the chest, settles into a lump in his throat. Arthur’s eyes are shining as he waits for his answer, and Merlin can feel the longing in him for his beloved kingdom. “I’ve lived a thousand lifetimes since then,” Merlin says carefully. “And I remember every stone in the castle walls.”

Arthur smiles softly. “It was only just days ago for me, you know. I was there with you just days ago.”

“I know.” Merlin turns his body to get a better look at Arthur’s face. “Arthur, we should talk about that. We never had a chance to-”

“Some other time, Merlin,” Arthur says.

“Arthur-”

“ _ I said _ , another time.” 

Merlin laughs, can’t help it. 

“What?” Arthur says, frowning over at Merlin, mouth pursed in that way it does when he’s particularly annoyed. 

“Nothing. You just. You sounded like you. Like King Arthur.”

Arthur grins, but it fades quickly and he looks away. “I guess I’m not  _ King  _ Arthur anymore, am I?”

“You still feel like the king to me,” Merlin murmurs, unable to meet Arthur’s eyes. 

Arthur doesn’t answer, but Merlin can feel him breathing, can feel his eyes looking. “Good.”

A few moments pass, and then Arthur speaks again, so quiet this time that Merlin has to strain to hear him. 

“Do people in this time...do people use magic?”

“I thought you said we’d discuss it another time,” Merlin says before he can think better of it, so used to spouting off at the mouth when it comes to Arthur. 

Arthur’s eyes flash angrily over to his. “A thousand years and you haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

“No. We’re both exactly the same. You’re still a prat and I’m still annoyed by it.”

Arthur opens his mouth to retort, then stops. Merlin’s smile breaks through first, and they laugh at themselves for a moment.

“No,” Merlin finally answers. “Some people still have magic, of course, but it’s secretive. Most people don’t believe it exists at all. Just fantasy and imagination.”

Arthur nods. “That must make things easier.”

“Or more difficult, depending on how you look at it.”   
“Do you think I’ll ever fit in here?”

It’s the way he says it more than how random it is, small and scared and exactly the way Arthur never wants to sound. Merlin’s heard that tone only a few times, and he aches with it, with the need to fix it.

“Of course. You just need time.”

“And the reason I’m back? Do you think I’ll be able to handle it? Whatever it is?”

Merlin reaches out to grab both of Arthur’s shoulders and force him to look up. “Yes, Arthur. Whatever it is, you will do just fine.”

Something shifts, something warm inside of Merlin that makes him look down and take his hands back. 

Arthur stands abruptly and runs a hand through his hair. “Right. Well, we should get some rest.”

He glances at the couch, at the blankets folded in the floor next to it. “Are you sure you don’t mind the couch? Perhaps we could switch nights? Or get a second bed? You’d be more comfortable.”

Merlin grins. “Are you actually being polite?”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “I take back my offer, then.” But he grins as he slaps Merlin’s shoulder. “Goodnight, Merlin.”

“Goodnight, Arthur.”

That night, while Arthur sleeps in Merlin’s bed, Merlin lies on the couch and thinks about what’s  _ under _ his bed. Boxes and boxes of letters. Letters to Arthur. 

He hasn’t let himself think about those letters, most of which say the same thing, since Arthur’s been back. He didn’t think he could handle it, thought he would break down if he let himself think about them while Arthur’s return was still fresh. 

Merlin loves him. 

And not the way a servant loves a good master, or a subject loves a good king. 

Merlin loves his smile, his hands, his voice. Loves the way he laughs and how he still, even in this world he knows nothing of, walks a little in front of Merlin like he’s ready to shield him at any second if he needs to. 

Merlin is  _ in love _ with Arthur. 

He’s been in love for longer than he knows, finally admitted it to himself somewhere around the fourth mental breakdown he had after Arthur died. And his love for Arthur is in all of those letters, every word of them. 

All he’s wanted is to have Arthur here, to have him close enough to touch. He’s dreamed of telling him everything, of showing him magic, of touching him and laughing with him and of doing so much more _ together _ . Those dreams got him here, gave him the strength to keep going, gave him the patience to wait. 

That fantasy is so close, snoring in the other room. 

And Merlin is terrified now. 

It’s too real. It was so easy to think about what he would do and say if Arthur were here when Arthur wasn’t, so easy to think he’d be brave and bare his soul. 

But he couldn’t bear it if Arthur didn’t feel the same way. Merlin didn’t wait all this time just to end up on the wrong end of a bad romance novel. Merlin knows he shouldn’t let such a trivial thing as pride get in the way. That’s such a shallow way to look at it, given all they are and all they’ve been to each other.

_ Two sides of the same coin… _

But it’s how he feels. Those letters underneath his bed will remain a secret for now, no matter how he wishes they weren’t. 

He has Arthur back, and that will be enough for now. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: feels

Another month passes in relative peace and quiet. With each passing day, Arthur loosens a little, adjusts to life in modern times, learns the new slang and braves technology. Merlin watches, heart feeling too big for his chest, still constantly dizzy with relief that Arthur is here. 

The reason  _ why _ he’s here becomes less important. 

They should be worried, Merlin knows, but there’s still no clue as to any danger they may be facing. There’s no point in spending every second of every day fretting over it. Besides, Merlin is as confident in Arthur’s abilities as he is his own, and he knows that whatever it is, they’ll handle it.

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s nothing at all. Maybe the need for Arthur to return wasn’t to fight some danger. Maybe it was to fill some other type of need, to do good works, to help someone or some cause. Maybe they should just be grateful.

“Merlin,” Arthur says one morning, “here!”

Merlin opens his eyes reluctantly and stretches, popping his back. Maybe he’ll take Arthur up on sleeping in the bed instead of the couch for a few nights. “What?” he grunts.

“Come and see!”

Despite Merlin’s early morning crankiness, he can’t help but smile at Arthur’s enthusiasm, and he pushes himself up to standing and drags his feet toward the table where Arthur’s waiting. Breakfast is laid out, two plates full along with orange juice and tea. There’s toast and jam, bacon, and eggs, all cooked to what looks like edible conditions. 

“I cooked!” Arthur says, shrugging his shoulders back to proudly push out his chest. 

Merlin’s grin is so big it almost hurts his face. “I see that.”

“And I didn’t burn anything with the _ electric _ devices,” he adds, nodding seriously, looking very much like he used to so very long ago when he was proud of himself, like an innocent child waiting for a reward. 

Merlin swallows around the lump in his throat and nods, sitting down just to have something to do, staring quietly down at his plate. 

“Is something wrong?” Arthur asks, face starting to fall.

“No,” Merlin assures him. “Nothing is wrong. This looks great.”

Arthur nods and sits down, satisfied with Merlin’s answer, and starts eating, making little happy noises at his own creation as he tastes it. Merlin takes a few bites, but he doesn’t really notice its flavor. His brain can’t register the food while it’s this distracted. 

Merlin just wants too much. He wants Arthur, wants to talk to him about magic, wants to run around the castle of Camelot again, wants Arthur to lead the charge while Merlin follows along and cleans up the mess. He wants to show Arthur all the wonder of this new world, wants to move forward  _ together _ . And more than anything, he wants to touch him again. It used to be accidental brushes of skin when he would help Arthur get dressed, the full weight of Arthur’s body on top of him when they would spar. And then there were the hugs, the squeezes of shoulders and grip of hands when they were celebrating surviving yet another ordeal. And when they  _ weren’t  _ surviving.

_ Just hold me, please.  _

Merlin wants _more_ now. He wants to touch just because. Arthur’s hair has gotten a tiny bit longer than he’s ever seen it, and he wants to brush his fingers through it. He wants to slide under Arthur’s arm when they are watching television. He wants to sleep next to him and feel his warmth. 

He wants so much. Wants it so much it hurts. 

“You sure you’re alright, Merlin?”

Merlin blinks hard and forces himself out of his thoughts. “Yes.” It’s all he can muster while he’s this full of emotion, but Arthur stays silent in a rare moment of luck and doesn’t press the issue. 

The rest of the day stays quiet. Merlin contemplates going to work, but ultimately decides not to. He’s been going in for a few hours a couple of times a week now that Arthur can handle being alone, but the shop is flourishing under Emma’s management and there’s not a lot for him to do there. It’s time for him to start thinking about “retiring” anyway so that he can move on, and changing between Merlin and Mr. Emrys so often has become tiring. 

That gives him another day to just be with Arthur, to think about all the things he’s been wishing he could say for a thousand years. He actually has the chance now, so where are all those words? Where are all the conversations he imagined? Where are all the beautiful confessions and declarations he’s thought so many times, until they are etched into his brain like permanent graffiti?

It hits Merlin that night, out of nowhere and from nothing. A calm, intense certainty. He’s already wasted too much time with Arthur back. He’s not going to waste any more. 

Arthur’s reading when Merlin comes into the living room, but he looks up instantly at the forceful tone in Merlin’s voice. “Come with me. I need to show you something.”

It’s a testament to how different things are now that Arthur doesn’t argue or demand to be told where he’s going and what the ‘something’ is. Merlin misses their fighting as much as he’s grateful for its absence.

With shaky hands and his heart in his throat, he leads Arthur back to the bedroom, where the boxes of letters are open on top of the bed now.

“I know you don’t want to talk about my magic,” Merlin begins.

Arthur stiffens, shoulders rising a little and his eyes hardening as they look down instead of at Merlin. 

“But there are some things you need to know about the time you were gone. Some things about me. Some things I  _ want _ you to know.”

“What are these?”

“These are letters. I wrote them to you.” Merlin can feel the blood rising in his cheeks, but he can’t stop now. Doesn’t really want to even if he could. It feels like the release of a breath he’s been holding since Arthur died. 

“Why?”

Merlin can’t help the annoyance in his voice, even in this moment. “Because I missed you.” He stops himself from adding  _ you idiot _ to the end of the sentence. 

Arthur reaches out and grabs the one on top of the pile.

“That’s the first one I ever wrote you. I copied it over whenever the previous version got too old and started to crumble and fade, because I wanted to keep it.”

“When did…”

“About a hundred years after you died.”

A bit of Arthur’s old swagger breaks through, putting on a brave face. “Took you that long to miss me?” he smirks, looking to get a rise out of Merlin, something he knows how to deal with. 

Merlin isn’t in the mood to play this game, and so he answers honestly. “Took me that long to be able to think about you without being overwhelmed. Read the letter. Read all of them if you want. I’ll be in the other room.”

Arthur takes about an hour. Merlin sits on the couch in the quiet, no television, no book, not even a cup of tea. He knows exactly what’s in that first letter, exactly what Arthur will know when he comes out of the bedroom. He'll know a great deal about Merlin's magic. More than he wants to. He'll know how often it was used and how deep that betrayal goes.  


And he’ll know that Merlin loves him. He’ll read about how Merlin thinks he’s the greatest person the world has ever seen, that Merlin isn’t sure he wants to live in a world without him, that Merlin feels like part of himself is missing with Arthur gone. He’ll know all the history Merlin has rewritten in his mind, all the times Merlin didn’t kiss Arthur and now wishes he had. 

While he waits, Merlin sifts through all the possible reactions he’ll get from Arthur. They all end badly. He can’t seem to imagine a scenario in which this ends well. But even so, he doesn’t regret it. 

He’s spent so much time keeping secrets from Arthur. 

He refuses to do that now. 

It takes another hour or so before there’s noise. Arthur’s footsteps sound heavy. A little quick. Sure of themselves. Merlin stands up to face whatever is about to happen. 

He expects a fight, or a shocked Arthur at the very least, one who he’ll have to attempt to explain himself to. 

But as Arthur comes into the living room, he doesn’t seem angry. 

Merlin knows every expression Arthur has, even now. And right now he looks resolved, like he’s made an important decision. He moves forward like he’s charging, and he doesn’t stop, moving so quickly that Merlin doesn’t think to move away, and Arthur is suddenly standing right in front of him, their chests almost touching. 

Their breaths hang between them like the whole world has gone still, just waiting for Arthur to say something. Merlin can feel his pulse everywhere, his fingers and toes and ears, like his blood can’t move at a normal pace right now. 

It doesn’t feel like a dream when Arthur reaches for his face. It’s too nervous and shaky for that, and Arthur’s fingers are a little too rough. It’s definitely real as he cups Merlin’s face and leans in, those bright eyes wide and a little scared.

And it’s definitely real when Arthur’s lips touch his. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: smut, top!Arthur/bottom!Merlin, feels

The kiss is hesitant and nervous, a little shy, but Merlin doesn’t mind. He’ll take it. 

Arthur pulls away after just a second or two, eyes wide like he can’t believe he just did that. 

Merlin grins at him. Can’t help it.

It takes a few seconds of Arthur standing there, hands falling awkwardly to his sides, before he can talk. Merlin patiently waits him out. 

“Did. Did you-did you mean all of that?”

Merlin doesn’t need to think. “Every word.”

“For how long?”

“Probably always. I didn’t know it then, of course. Not the way I know now. But it was always you, Arthur.”

Arthur shudders like Merlin’s hurt him somehow, shoulders pulling in as he takes a step back. Merlin grabs his arms, doesn’t let him run or hide.

“Merlin, I-”

“It’s okay, Arthur.”

Arthur breaks free or Merlin’s grip and staggers back, sits down on the edge of the couch and puts his face in his hands, muffling his words. “How is any of this okay?” 

Something in Arthur’s voice stops Merlin from reaching out for him again. When he looks up, there’s actual anguish in his eyes, confusion and fear and so many things Merlin wishes he could take away with a flash of his magic. 

“I don’t understand _any_ of this, Merlin. I didn’t get to adjust to this world. It’s all so…”

Merlin stares at him, confused. He thought Arthur had been doing so well. Things had seemed so easy. 

But _of course_ they had. Why hadn’t Merlin noticed that Arthur was just being Arthur, that he was pretending everything was fine so he could convince himself and everyone else that it actually was? He should have paid more attention, should have worried a little more instead of just celebrating.

“I just...I died in Camelot and woke up here. I’m still dead for all I know, and this could just be…”   


“Heaven?” Merlin suggests.

Arthur flinches a little, but a tiny smile breaks through. “Couldn’t be. If this were Heaven, you wouldn’t be just as annoying as you always were.”

Merlin snorts and rolls his eyes, but Arthur turns serious again. 

“Is _any_ of this real?” he asks, pleading and still scared, all of it on written plainly on his face, and Arthur would hate it if he knew how much he was giving away right now. “This world. You. Is this real? Am I really supposed to be here? Sometimes it’s terrifying, and sometimes it’s the most wonderful thing, but I never feel like I belong, and-”

Merlin shuts him up the way he’s always wanted to. He kneels down and kisses him, pushes their lips together with purpose. Arthur makes a noise of protest, but his hands grab Merlin’s arms and hold on, keeping him right there, their lips touching, moving a little this time. 

“Arthur,” Merlin murmurs. “It’s okay. I know it all seems overwhelming, but it doesn’t matter. I’m right here, and we’re together. That’s what’s important, right? When you really think about it?”

He leans back and peers into Arthur’s face, and watches the wildness in his eyes settle a little, watches as he takes a very measured deep breath and carefully nods. “Please don’t leave me.”

_ Just hold me, please. _

Merlin reaches out to trace Arthur’s jaw, to slide his hand down over his tense shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere. Couldn’t make me leave if you wanted to.”

Something breaks inside Arthur then. Merlin can feel it snap, can feel the walls come down, can feel Arthur give up his pretenses. He jolts forward, capturing Merlin’s mouth in his again, only this time, it isn’t soft and sweet. This time, it’s hard and hot, desperate, _greedy_ as he bites at Merlin’s lips, sucking at them as he pushes both their bodies to the floor.

Merlin has experienced the depths of magic, has seen true good conquer true evil, has seen power beyond all reason. But nothing, _nothing_ has ever felt as perfect, as truly _right_ , as the weight of Arthur on top of him, heavy and solid and real. 

He kisses back then, lets his mouth open and his tongue slide forward and _oh, that first taste_. It’s all Arthur, tongues rubbing together, meeting as equals despite Arthur’s attempt to gain the upper hand, and Merlin doesn’t care if they never do this again, if this is just a one time thing because Arthur’s needing comfort. He’ll tuck this memory away and savor it until the end of time itself.

“Please, Merlin.” Arthur whispers the words into Merlin’s neck, and Merlin wraps his arms around him, rolls them on the carpet to hover over Arthur and look into his eyes. 

“I’ve always taken care of you. I won’t stop now.”

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut for a moment as he lets the words sink in, and his hands fall to Merlin’s waist, fingers digging in like if he can grab hard enough, he can convince himself this is real. When his throat starts to work as he swallows down a sob, Merlin leans down and kisses it. 

“Shh. It’s okay, Arthur. Let me take care of you.”

Arthur nods and tugs at Merlin’s hair until their lips meet again. Merlin lets himself get lost in it for a moment, until Arthur pulls away to catch his breath.

“Merlin?” Arthur’s voice is different now, commanding, sure and steady, and Merlin recognizes his king in it.

With a smirk he can’t help, Merlin looks down at him, still so regal even with his kiss-swollen lips and disheveled hair. “Yes, _sire_?”

Arthur’s eyes darken and he gasps quietly. Oh, Merlin has dreamed about this. His heart has always longed for Arthur, to be able to love him. But a thousand years is a long time, and Merlin has thought about this part of it too, about what he would do with Arthur if he was only allowed to. He’s imagined all the ways he could take Arthur’s breath away, imagined what it would be like to give himself up and let Arthur have complete control of him. And the look on Arthur’s face is almost worth the wait. 

“I’m ready for bed,” he says, rolling up to sitting, forcing Merlin to pull away. His voice is every bit as obnoxious as Merlin remembers. Merlin wants to laugh with joy at hearing it again. 

“And?” 

“And I’ll need you to help me undress.”

It’s something Merlin has done countless times. It was literally his job once. His hands itch to do it once more, with Arthur looking at him the way he is right now. He nods and stands, not trusting himself to talk. Arthur doesn’t comment on his silence, and Merlin smiles to himself at how odd it is for them to be quiet together. 

In the bedroom, they leave the light off, and there’s only a dim glow from the street outside as Arthur stands next to the bed. He stiffly holds up his arms, looks down his nose at Merlin, but he grins as Merlin steps forward. 

Merlin lets his fingers brush against Arthur’s skin as he pulls the t-shirt up, lets the tips drag over Arthur’s ribs. He feels a raised scar, one he remembers seeing every day, one he never got around to asking about. Maybe he will someday, but not tonight. Arthur leans forward a little and steps back, the material making his hair stand everywhere as Merlin pulls it free. 

And then Arthur’s standing there, bare chested and perfect, looking at Merlin once more like he’s the only thing anchoring him here, the only reason he has any sanity at the moment. Merlin understands. Merlin will keep his promise to take care of Arthur. 

He quickly unbuttons his own shirt and lets it fall to the floor, and Arthur watches a little nervously as Merlin shucks his pants and underwear off as well. 

“No more hiding,” he tells Arthur. “Not my magic. Not myself. Okay?”

Arthur doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t flinch or pull back when Merlin reaches for his zipper, and that’s all the encouragement Merlin needs. When he gets Arthur’s jeans to the floor, he steps out of them, sliding his hands down Merlin’s arms for support before pulling them both back to the bed. 

“Need you,” Arthur whispers, just as their bodies tangle together. “Need to feel you.”

Merlin twists under Arthur so that he can look up at his face, so that Arthur’s hips can fit snug between his thighs. He can barely breathe with it, with the sensation of it, with the sound of Arthur’s voice in his ears as he gets so close to all that skin and muscle.

“Whatever you need. It’s yours, Arthur. I’ve always been yours.”

It’s the truest and most freeing thing Merlin has ever said, and they both shake under those words as they kiss again.

And then Arthur is doing exactly what he asked to, he’s taking what he needs, all hands and teeth and rolling motions of his body. Merlin’s going to have marks on his skin tomorrow from where Arthur explores, and that only makes it better, makes it even more perfect. 

Merlin pushes Arthur’s shoulders until he turns, lies on his back and lets Merlin take his turn. 

There’s so much Merlin wants to do. So many places he wants to kiss and touch and taste. So many things he wants to try, just to hear Arthur’s reaction. 

But hopefully, there will be time for that later, because Merlin’s attention is all on Arthur’s erection, thick and flushed. He watches Arthur’s eyes widen and his hands curl into fists as he slides down, then slowly kisses the head, slowly sinks down to take Arthur completely into his mouth. 

“ _Merlin_.” 

It’s a broken gasp of a word and Merlin can’t remember anything in his whole life ever sounding so good. He moves slowly, tormenting Arthur with his tongue until neither of them can stand it, until Arthur is clutching at his shoulders, trying to pull him back up. 

Suddenly, Merlin is practically flying through the air, and then he’s falling back into the bed, Arthur flipping him so quickly his breath catches in his chest. Their hips are slotted together and Merlin’s legs are spread around those hips, pinned beneath Arthur. 

Slowly, Arthur slides his hands up Merlin’s arms and laces their fingers together on either side of Merlin’s head. Merlin squeezes, takes a minute to hold on and just look at Arthur, just feel this little point of contact between them. It feels big, like its more than just their hands tangled together.

And then Arthur is slowly pushing inside with a nudge of his hips, slick with spit and burning hot. Merlin tips his head back and groans at the stretch of it, uncomfortable, almost painful, but he wants it, wants to feel every bit of Arthur inside of him. 

Arthur drops his head into the bend of Merlin’s neck and groans, fingers squeezing hard enough now to cut off circulation. 

They find a natural rhythm like they always do. It’s as easy as when they argue, as when they face a battle together, as when they gave and followed orders. And God, it feels perfect. Merlin is shaking and sweating in no time, legs wrapped around Arthur, who can’t seem to stop moaning into Merlin’s neck, his teeth scraping Merlin’s skin every now and then. 

It builds and builds until Merlin can’t take it any longer, and he’s coming untouched between their bodies without meaning to, lost in it, in the feel of Arthur still inside him, leaving a permanent mark. He’s so lost in it that it takes him a minute to realize that Arthur’s coming too, that he can feel him pulsing and throbbing inside. 

Arthur’s mouth finds his again, and they kiss until they’ve calmed down, until they can just lie there and breathe, Arthur crushing Merlin with his weight.

Merlin’s last thought before he falls asleep under Arthur, hearts beating together against their chests, is that Arthur still hasn’t let go of his hands.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: implied smut

Merlin wakes up in a panic. 

His arm reaches out for Arthur, but only finds empty bed, and he just _panics_. 

He knew this was too good to be true. Last night must have freaked Arthur out. Made things worse. Merlin should never have let himself believe there was ever a chance for them. Not in that way. Not outside of Arthur's moment of weakness.  


Or maybe the whole thing was a dream. Maybe Merlin has finally cracked, and the whole thing was a delusion of his heartsick mind. Maybe Arthur isn’t even truly back.

But before Merlin can work up a good sob, the bed shifts. 

“Good morning.” Arthur is sitting at the end of the bed, legs hanging off, bare torso twisted around to look at Merlin. He’s not quite smiling, and as Merlin stares back at him, he realizes he probably looks much like Merlin does. A little shy, a little unsure, a little overwhelmed by how surreal this all is.

“Good morning,” Merlin answers.

“I, uh.” Arthur looks down at his hands as his cheeks flush just a tiny bit. “I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s a first.”

Arthur’s eyes snap up and glare for a moment, and then he finds his smile, bright and pure as the sun itself. “Shut up,” he laughs. “You still haven’t learned the appropriate way to speak to your king, have you?”

Merlin shrugs. “I was never overly concerned with being proper.”

Arthur nods. “I remember.” The laughter fades and Arthur’s eyes cloud over. “I’m not your king anymore, so I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

Merlin sits all the way up, crawls to the end of the bed to touch Arthur. Last night wasn’t enough, and it still feels wonderful and unbelievable to actually wrap his arms around Arthur, to press his chest to Arthur’s back as he curls around him, skin on skin, radiating heat. “You’re still my king, Arthur,” he whispers, letting his lips brush against Arthur’s ear. “Always.”

Arthur reaches up to rest his hands on Merlin’s arms, squeezing a little. Merlin can practically hear his mind racing with all the same questions that still haven’t been answered. 

And just like that, a possible solution rises in Merlin’s mind like the sun rising out his window. It may not work, but it can’t hurt anything to try. And he just might be able to give Arthur all the answers he wants. 

Merlin smiles and hugs Arthur closer for a moment, then scoots back on the bed. Yes, he might have a starting place in figuring all of this out. But first, he wants to enjoy his morning with Arthur. 

Arthur turns with a pout on his face at their physical separation, crawls back up the bed so they are close enough to touch again. He pushes Merlin back down into the bed and kisses him, slow and sweet until Merlin can’t remember his own name. Just Arthur’s. 

“Good,” he smiles.

It takes a second for Merlin to remember what they were talking about, and then he has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Which is rather easy, actually, when Arthur’s hands find his waist.

It’s another couple of hours before they manage to get out of bed, with messy hair and swollen lips and red marks on their skin. Merlin can feel where Arthur’s been as he walks to the shower, and a little part of him wants to feel that soreness forever, wants to keep Arthur with him always.

********

Arthur seems a little calmer the rest of the day, distracted by this new honesty between them. There's a lot to think about beyond the unanswered questions that have been plaguing him.  

“I would have written you letters, too, you know,” he says over lunch. “If you’d been gone.”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” Merlin grins.

Arthur shrugs. “You’re probably right. But I would have thought those things.”

Now _that_ Merlin believes. Arthur would never have written them down, would have kept it all inside so he could pretend he wasn’t feeling things. It would have been easier for Arthur that way, the only way he could deal with something he couldn’t fix or fight. But it would have been there just the same. Merlin might not have believed it up until last night, but he believes it now, believes the way Arthur kissed him, the way he touched him.

“Did you ever…” Merlin raises his eyebrows and lets his sentence trail off as Arthur swallows and purses his lips. Merlin doesn’t care how long he takes to answer. He’s content to sit there and stare at that face he’s missed so much, now openly appreciating how gorgeous it is.

Arthur’s eyes flash a brighter blue than usual when he finally answers. “I think so. I ignored it, of course. But yes, Merlin. I believe that this was always there between us.”

“Arthur,” Merlin pushes his sandwich to the side and gets up, moves to the other side of the table to sit right next to him. “We need to talk about it.”

Arthur closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, but he doesn’t run this time, and when he finally looks at Merlin, there’s a hard determination in his eyes telling Merlin to go ahead. 

Merlin swallows and braces himself. “I should have told you all along. About my magic. But you know why I couldn’t.”

Arthur nods but stays silent. 

“You have no idea how many times I almost did. How hard it was to keep that secret from you.”

“I’m sure the sneaking around did grow tiresome.”

“That’s not what I mean. It was hard for me because.” Merlin stops and waits until Arthur’s looking at him. “Because I wanted you to know who I was. I wanted you to see the _real_ me.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think since I’ve been back,” Arthur says quietly. “And I _do_ know the real you. And the letters just confirmed what I already assumed. It still smarts a little that you lied to me. But I meant what I said the day I, uh, the day I died.”

Tears prick in Merlin’s eyes when Arthur grabs his face in his hands, thumbs grazing over his jaw. 

“Thank you, Merlin. For everything.”

Merlin swallows down a sob and holds his tongue until he feels like he can talk, but his voice still comes out a little shaky. “I’d do it all over again, Arthur.”

Arthur smiles a little sadly. “You may have to, if the reason I’m back ever presents itself. But this time, promise me you won’t lie.”

“Of course, I promise.”

Merlin feels like his heart is about to burst when they seal his promise with a kiss. Arthur tastes like starting over, like freedom, tastes like familiarity and new adventure at the same time. Merlin sighs happily into the kiss, not minding that Arthur still has a death grip on his face. 

When they finally manage to pull away, Merlin presses his forehead to Arthur’s, close enough to feel Arthur’s eyelashes when he blinks. 

“I need to go somewhere tonight. I might...I might be able to get some answers about why you’re back.”

Arthur pulls back with a sharp breath. “What? Answers from where? Where are we going?”

“ _We_ aren’t going. I am. And I’ll tell you everything when I get back, I promise. Just trust me one more time, okay?”

Arthur narrows his eyes, then gives a weary sigh. “Fine.”

Merlin kisses him one more time. “Thank you.”

Merlin knows it's a lot to ask. But he also knows that Arthur isn't ready to deal with his magic firsthand. Not yet. Especially not this. He needs to do this alone.

A few hours later, Merlin stands in the middle of a field in the countryside, miles from anyone or anything. He listens to the wind for a moment, centers himself and feels the magic start to hum under his skin. 

When he’s ready, he braces his feet and stares up at the darkening sky. The words he speaks are as ancient as he is, and he isn’t sure they’ll work. But he has to try.

His throat opens, and his voice rumbles out, deep and authoritative.

_ “O, drakon…” _


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: feels

The Great Dragon swoops down to land, as gracefully powerful as ever. Merlin stares, resisting the urge to take a step back. While he remembers every single detail of Arthur’s existence, his mind seems to have forgotten just how large and intimidating the dragon is.

“Merlin,” he says. “We meet again.”

“I wasn’t sure you were alive,” Merlin admits.

“Indeed I am.”

It isn’t polite to just summon him after a thousand years and demand a favor, but Merlin can’t think of anything else to say. He shifts his weight, clasps his hands behind his back as he tries to come up with something that doesn’t sound selfish or stupid.

“You wouldn’t have called me if you didn’t need my help,” the dragon says. There’s a hint of irritation in his voice, but no real anger, like it’s just an affectionate scolding. “How may I be of service to you, Dragonlord?”

“It’s Arthur.” 

“Ah, yes. The once and future king has returned. I knew this already.”

“I need to know why.”

“Why?”

Merlin fights not to shout in frustration. “Yes. Why has he returned? He needs to know his purpose.”

The dragon lowers himself, dropping his head close to the ground, close to Merlin. “I should think it was quite obvious. I told you the prophecy. Arthur returned when he was needed most.”

“But he _ isn’t  _ needed,” Merlin argues. “There’s no war to be won, no kingdom to rule.”

“It is true that there’s order in the world, yes.”

Merlin clenches his fists at his sides. “Speak plainly, dragon. Tell me why Arthur has returned.”

“Because of you, of course.”

“Because...because of  _ me _ ? What help do I need? Is there danger for me, specifically?”

“As I said once before, you are but one side of a coin. Arthur is the other.”

Merlin flings his arms out, letting his irritation openly show. “ _ And? _ ”

“And you cannot survive without the person who makes you whole.”

The words are clear, but they don’t make sense in Merlin’s brain. “I don’t understand. You said Arthur would return when Albion needed him most. Not when _ I _ did.”

The dragon’s face morphs into what’s probably a smile, though it looks like a grimace. “Albion is no more.”

That’s true enough. Merlin remembers its fall, remembers the hope inside of him as he waited for Arthur to come save it. He remembers the heartbreak afterward when he realized it wasn’t Arthur’s time, the fear that maybe he misunderstood, that Arthur was gone forever. 

“Why didn’t Arthur come then? Why couldn’t we save it?”

“Civilizations are fleeting, Merlin. They aren’t meant to last. They’re meant to evolve and change as the people do.”

“ _ Will you speak plainly _ ?” Merlin shouts, not caring that his anger is unchecked. “You said he was to return when Albion needed him most. Now you say Albion was never meant to last. Do you have anything helpful to tell me?”

“Albion still exists. It’s just inside you now. You, the only living person who carries the true memories of it.  _ You _ are Albion, Merlin. And Arthur has come when you needed him.”

Now they’re getting somewhere. “Need him for what? What’s coming?”

“Merlin. The great power you contain is second only to your great ignorance. Arthur isn’t here to save you from some outside danger. He’s here to save you from yourself, from your sadness at his absence. He’s here because it was always your destiny to be together.”

That echoes in Merlin’s mind, and as he soaks it in, he sees himself, growing more and more isolated, more and more withdrawn. He hears Emma telling him that he’s clearly lonely and depressed, he sees himself picking appearances and occupations that discourage anyone from coming too close, even for a brief time. 

He had been closer to losing it than he realized, closer to drowning in his sorrow and his longing for Arthur than he had let himself admit. 

It seems such a trivial thing. An ancient prophecy that brings Arthur back from the dead simply because Merlin  _ misses _ him?

“I know,” the dragon says, like he can read Merlin’s thoughts. “It’s a fairly frivolous thing in the grand scheme of the world. But you’ll be needed again, Merlin. Your story is far from over. And you cannot live your story if you grieve yourself to death.”

“My story?” 

The dragon actually chuckles then. “Yes. Arthur’s had his time in the spotlight. It will someday be yours. And Arthur will be there to support you.”

“You aren’t going to tell me any more than that, are you?”

“I’m afraid not. It’s a long time coming, anyway. You shouldn’t waste time worrying about it now.”

“So that’s it? Arthur’s here for  _ me _ ? And there’s no reason for us to be fearful or on guard?”

The dragon pulls himself back up to full height. “That’s it, Merlin. But don’t underestimate the power of your connection.”

Merlin nods, still a little dizzy from this conversation.

“It’s good to see you looking well, Merlin.” The dragon says the words like he’s surprised by them, and Merlin laughs a little. 

“It’s good to see you, too, I suppose.”

“I’m sure it’s too much to ask you not to summon me again?”

“I’d only break that promise in the future, I’m certain,” Merlin grins. “But I’ll do my best to leave you alone as much as possible.”

The dragon nods once before a great rush of wings whisks him away into the sky. 

Merlin sits down on the ground and plucks at the grass, unable to move until he’s wrapped his mind around this revelation. 

The universe knew that Merlin loved Arthur, long before he did. And the universe brought Arthur back just when he was losing hope. Merlin imagines explaining this to Arthur, and it sounds so much like a romance novel that he’s soon lying back on the ground, laughing up at the stars until his stomach hurts. 

But despite how ridiculous it all seems, the world feels solid now. Safe and stable. Like things are put in order once again. 

Merlin already knew that Arthur being back was the best thing that ever happened to him. He’s never felt so whole or complete, never felt so free and so safe, never felt so content. The fact that his happiness was the  _ goal _ all along is unimaginable, but who is he to question such a gift?

He pulls himself up off the ground and starts moving in the direction of his home, in the direction of Arthur, and doesn’t stop until he’s stumbling through the doorway of his flat, where Arthur is waiting on the couch. 

“Well?” Arthur stands impatiently, eyes searching Merlin for the answer they’d hoped he’d find.

Merlin crosses the room and stands only inches in front of him, close enough to bump into Arthur if he leans forward. “You don’t need to worry.”

“So you found the answer then? You know why I’m here?” Arthur’s eyes are big and expectant. 

Merlin can’t stop his own laugh. “You’re here for  _ me _ .”

“What?”

Merlin sighs and drops down on the couch, pulling Arthur to sit next to him, their knees bumping. 

“I went to see the dragon tonight.”

He tells Arthur the conversation word for word, trying to stick to the facts and not add any unnecessary or sappy emotion to it. Arthur’s going to have a hard enough time swallowing the news as it is.

“I’m sorry, but you’ve got to be joking. I’m here because you missed me?”

Merlin lifts his chin and mimics the tone Arthur uses to give orders. “You’re here because it’s your turn to serve _ me _ .”

Arthur visibly blanches, and Merlin collapses back into the couch, laughing. 

“This isn’t funny!”

“Oh, the look on your face right now is definitely funny.”

“ _ Merlin. _ ”

Merlin manages to stop his laughter long enough to sit up, planting his chin on Arthur’s shoulder and whispering directly into his ear. “Is it really so bad? To be here with me? To just live our lives together, free of danger and quests for a while?”

Arthur’s still pouting when he answers, but his tone is warm. “I suppose not. You really think it’s that simple?”

“It is for now, anyway. And that’s good enough for me.”

It’s so  _ good  _ to sit there, bodies leaning against one another, breathing together, hearts beating together, knowing that the universe conspired to get them here, that it brought one of them back for the dead just for moments like these. 

Merlin doesn’t realize he’s crying until Arthur shifts his shoulder and Merlin sees the wet spot on his t-shirt. He doesn’t care. Even  _ that _ is perfect. 

Arthur’s hands are warm and sure as they hold Merlin’s face, his lips loose and undemanding when he kisses him. It’s not fear or comfort this time, not anything but the honesty of how they feel. Merlin kisses back with everything he has.

When they have to pull away or risk permanently losing feeling in their lips, Arthur lounges back against the couch, Merlin curled into his side, head resting on his shoulder. “You’ll have to teach me how to use your cell phone.”

Merlin grins. “Or we could get you one of your own.”

“And I want to travel. I suppose we have the means to go anywhere now.”

“I’d like that.”

Their fingers tangle over Arthur’s stomach, and Merlin lets out a happy sigh.

“Merlin?”

“Mmm?”

"Thank you. For waiting for me.”

Merlin looks into those blue eyes, clear and deep, and smiles. “Thank you for coming back for  _ me _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with my first little Merlin series! I appreciate all the feedback, and I've had so much fun getting more comfortable writing these characters!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Feedback is my lifeblood! XOXO


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